Patron Saint of Difficult Marriages
by MissLouisa
Summary: Johnlock AU. Sherlock is the best wedding planner in London. John is getting married. Rated T for language ONLY.


"You called and made an appointment... Mr Watson, I presume?"

John nodded. "Please, call me John. My fiancee couldn't make it, so she sent me." John offered an apologetic grin. He wasn't really that into all this wedding stuff, but Anne had insisted.

The man (tall, dark, and handsome, Anne would've described him) flashed a quick smile as he looked John over. "Sherlock Holmes. Will you be wearing your dress uniform to the wedding? That'll need to be incorporated into the colour scheme."

"Yes.. sorry, how did you...?"

"Posture. Obvious." Sherlock said drily. "Church wedding, I presume - you probably served out of ipatriotism/i and have some religious notion. Will you want a local church in," Sherlock paused, "ah, you live in London. Wonderful. I presume you'll want to get married within the city, then?"

John nodded, faintly aware that he probably looked like a gormless idiot.

"Are you just... how did you just know that stuff?"

"Your posture says military - you stand like you're on parade, but only when you noticed I was looking at you - so, ex military. London? Easy. Trousers aren't creased enough for it to have been a long journey, you didn't walk, not with the cane, so you must have come from within the city."

"Do people normally travel far for your services?"

Sherlock stared at him. "Yes."

There was a pause. Sherlock seemed to be waiting for something. John was nonplussed. This was one of the situations he really needed Anne for.

"Sorry, I... was there anything you needed to know?"

"The date."

"We were hoping July 15th. Is that too soon?"

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, a half smile flitting across his lips. "Aren't you ready to be married?"

John flushed. "Of course, I meant... will that be enough time to get everything, you know, organized."

"Yes. Which church did you have in mind?"

"St. Rita's. Do you know it?"

Sherlock smirked. "Patron saint of difficult marriages. How appropriate. Yes, I know it. Small guest list then, I presume."

"I... really?" John blushed. Any minute now he was going to start stammering, he thought. iDammit./i "Anne chose it..." he trailed off.

"I gathered as much. How long is the guest list?"

"Just immediate family and close friends. About 30 or so." John said. He should've scheduled this later in the day. He had no idea a conversation could be so _exhausting._

Sherlock paused. "Small budget, then." He seemed to consider this for a moment. "I'll have some colour schemes drawn up and sent to you within a few days."

John nodded, dumbly, and Sherlock turned, leaving John feeling like he'd been dismissed.

"Can I just ask... are you some kind of genius?"

"High functioning sociopath."

"And you're a _wedding planner?"_

Sherlock looked at him blankly, as if it was obvious.

John sighed, feeling almost like he was explaining something to a child. "Sociopaths don't do things for other people. They're unable to form meaningful relationships. But, you're a wedding planner!"

"It's an opportunity to observe meaningful relationships." Sherlock drawled, as if it was something he had said before and was tired of. A wicked grin crossed his face for a moment. "Sometimes I like to guess how long a marriage will last. I'm usually right."

"You're a wedding planner who doesn't really believe in marriage." John said, flatly. "Great. I totally understand why Anne would want you as our wedding planner."

"I'm good at understanding what people want." Sherlock paused. "_You_ do not want a marriage with this Anne of yours. It won't last."

John winced.

"I'll send Anne to talk colour schemes with you, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment as John marched out of his office.

He was furious. The man had no right to comment on the state of his relationship with Anne - he was meant to be organizing their wedding, not predicting the future! John would've loved to find another planner, but Sherlock Holmes was apparently the best in London and Anne had insisted. She had made the very convincing point that if John had his way they'd get married in a registry office and follow it with a trip to the pub (John had argued that would that really be so bad? but it was not a battle he stood a chance of winning.)

He would put up with Sherlock Holmes - better yet, he would make Anne put up with Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

It was a rainy day when John walked into Sherlock Holmes' office.

"You again." Sherlock quirked a smile. He didn't sound remotely surprised. John loathed him for it.

"Anne had an appointment. She briefed me on colour schemes, though." John sounded uncertain. He hated himself for it.

Sherlock nodded. "Do you want to know how I know your marriage won't last?"

"This should be good."

"Your fiancee is cheating on you, for a start. And she makes all this fuss about a wedding but doesn't make either of her appointments with the planner, instead leaving it to her fiance who isn't really looking forward to either the marriage or the wedding."

John stared blankly. Anne wouldn't. She wouldn't. Would she?

"If the wedding is cancelled, I'll send you an invoice for my fee. Did Anne tell you how much I charged by the hour, or did she neglect to mention that, too?"

John blinked, slowly.

"What makes you think she's cheating on me?"

Sherlock sighed, as if this was the most boring thing he could possibly imagine doing on a Wednesday afternoon (John had made sure it wasn't a morning appointment). "The slight burn on the cuff of your shirt - lack of attention to detail, odd from a devoted fiancee, and unusual, too, because you're running your fingers over it. Hints to an unhappy relationship. Why unhappy when you're so keen to get married? Obvious. Predictable. Too _easy_, John."

John took a deep breath.

"I suppose you should send that invoice."

And then he turned, and left.

* * *

He left a message on Sherlock's voicemail two weeks after that.

"Hi, Mr Holmes, it's, uh, John Watson. I wanted to apologise. I was kind of a dick, and I owe you for saving me from making a terrible decision. Can I apologise by buying you a drink or something?"

* * *

He bumped into Sherlock outside tesco about a week after that. He was still wondering at how much more expensive it was buying food for only one person when he recognised him.

"Mr Holmes. Mr Holmes! Did you get the message I left you?"

Sherlock's gaze flickered over him. "Yes. Sorry. I don't do trips to the pub."

"Okay. Can I buy you a coffee or something?"

Sherlock considered this. "Pub would be preferable to a coffee shop. King's Arms?"

John found himself nodding. "At... say, 7?"

Sherlock nodded sharply, and disappeared. John blinked. If that wasn't the weirdest encounter he'd had in years... he shook himself. Pub. At 7. Go to flat, unpack food, go out.

He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to buy Sherlock a drink. He owed him, that was true, that was his reason for asking, but it wasn't enough.

The words tall, dark, and handsome lingered at the back of his mind, but he opted to ignore them. Home. Pub. No thinking in between.

The pub was crowded when he entered, feeling a little too much like he was having a first date. (What are you thinking, John, you just broke up with the girl you thought you were going to marry.)

He spotted Sherlock coolly sipping a glass of water in a booth. He slid in beside him and raised an eyebrow.

"How am I supposed to buy you a drink if you're drinking water?"

Sherlock smiled tightly. "I suppose lemonade would be acceptable."

John rolled his eyes. He had the distinct, and slightly unsettling feeling, that Sherlock was toying with him.

"One lemonade, one magners." He said to the waitress, deciding he wasn't going to look at Sherlock's expression until he left.

Sherlock's face was lit with a slight smile. "Not going to pressure me to drink, then?"

"You asked for a lemonade." John shrugged. "You don't drink, then?"

"Your powers of observation astound me." Sherlock quipped, sarcastically. John rolled his eyes and felt one of those irritatingly irrepressible smiles appear on his face.

"Yes, well, we can't all be high functioning." John neglected to add the _sociopath_. He was certain Sherlock noticed, but he was also fairly certain it was slightly less than the truth, in spite of the confidence with which Sherlock had declared it.

Sherlock shrugged. "You are correct, of course. I don't drink."

"Why not?"

"I have a predilection for bad habits." Sherlock smiled a cat like smile, and John couldn't help but laugh.

"Such as?"

"Flirting with men recently out of serious relationships."

John swallowed. "I see... no, I don't see, actually. What?"

"I'm flirting with you, John."

"Right. Yes. No. What?"

Sherlock, who was now firmly (and unashamedly) in the category of tall, dark, and handsome, looked amused.

"Flirting. You know what that is, yes?"

John nodded.

"I'm flirting with you."

Silence reigned. John blushed.

"John, if I've made you uncomfortable, I can go."

"No, no. It's just, um, direct. Nice. I like it. Bit of a shock, that's all."

"Shock?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"You've been tall, dark and handsome in my head since day one."

John frowned, his brain catching up with his mouth.

Sherlock's voice dropped a few octaves. "Tall, dark, and handsome."

John nodded, words caught in his throat. Sherlock leaned in. John found himself staring, mesmerised, at his lips.

Is he going to kiss me? He thought. Fuck, is he going to kiss me? He probably is. Oh god.

And then he did.

It was pretty good, as kisses go, John reckoned.

* * *

John learned more than he ever want about wedding planning over the following months. His idea of the perfect wedding was still a quick ceremony and then a trip down the pub, but Sherlock seemed to find that more amusing than anything else. John found himself spending more and more time at Sherlock's flat. Sherlock's tiny cramped flat, with wedding pamphlets literally everywhere. John had found one in the drawer where Sherlock kept his condoms, once.

He bought a ring not too long after that incident. For one, he thought it'd be tacky to propose twice with the same ring... and for two, it didn't mean he had to use it.

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock knew exactly what he'd bought as soon as he walked through the door, but declined to comment. John didn't mention it either. There was, in fact, no mention of it at all, until Sherlock was at John's (it occasionally happened, but not very often) and John made him go and fetch the prophylactics (Sherlock felt calling them condoms was beneath him) and Sherlock returned with the ring.

"Why did you buy a different one for me?"

John shrugged. "Your hands aren't very womanly?"

Sherlock smirked. "That is not the real reason, John Watson."

"Seemed appropriate. Also, you left that leaflet in the bathroom right before I was going to go in there three days in a row. Subtle, you are not."

"As I recall, you rather like my directness."

John smiled fondly. "I do."

"Is that going to go in the vows then?"

"Depends. Is there going to be a wedding?"

"Civil Partnership, John, honestly. Yes. Oh, I know exactly what your perfect wedding will be. You have tells, you see. I've been studying your reactions to various leaflets for months."

John groaned. "You're going to be unbearable now, aren't you?"

Sherlock grinned. "You're not supposed to say that about your fiance, John."

John buried his head under the pillow and made complaining noises. "This was a terrible idea. Let me plan the wedding."

He wasn't the slightest bit offended when Sherlock started laughing uncontrollably.


End file.
